


Test Subject

by Eonneo



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Albert Wesker - Freeform, F/M, Fighting, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonneo/pseuds/Eonneo
Summary: You are an experiment and creation of the Umbrella Corp. You are powerful and capable, but when it comes for your final test to perfection, your right to exist is put on the line.





	Test Subject

**Author's Note:**

> Albert Wesker was probably one of the first characters to make me question my interest in non-con and abuse. He was cruel, ruthless, and _hurt_ well. So here we are. He's owed a piece for this kink of abuse and non-consensual sex. Also, yes, he's fucking his clone, because it's something I think he'd do and a bit of a darker twist on what I do. It's not something I'm exactly in to, but it works here. 
> 
> As per usual, I do not promote abuse or non-consensual sex in a real sense. But as someone with this kink, I find writing to be a healthy way to explore these kinks. I support all forms of consensual acts, even if, in safe, consenting practice, those acts are non-consensual. Haha.

It was dark. Cold. Dry. That was life, most days, sitting alone in that horrid cell. Only taken out for pricks and prods and tests. A lot of testing, actually. The physical abilities were growing rapidly, reflexes sharp. The lousy and pathetic scientist were all impressed and in awe at what they had created, unaware that it was a monstrosity that humanity was unprepared for. It was you.  
You sat. You waited. Sometimes you read the few books you owned. You read them in the complete darkness, as they kept light from you. That was a flaw the morons had yet to fix. Bright light hurt. A lamp light wasn't as bad, but you didn't even bother with that. Your eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and most things were clear to you.  
It had been quite a few days since your last 'test', which involved an array of violence upon other, lesser experiments in the facility. Some looked human, like yourself. Others didn't. No matter their look, you did what you were supposed to do, and that was destroy. Destroy effectively and quickly, and without remorse. How had they managed to erase an entire emotion from a living creature was still a mystery to you, but you left the thought alone. You were you, no matter how or why.  
Sound. Not far off, but voices. The first sound you had heard in past few days, aside from your own, slow breathing and heart beat. They were discussing your next test, but they were discussing it in a hushed tone. Your hearing hadn't been perfected yet, so what they said was lost in the silence.  
The door opened. A flashlight shone on your face. It stung, and you turned away into the darkness.  
“As you can see, sir, it's sensitive to light. Very sensitive.”  
“Can that be fixed? Or will it have to be scrapped?”  
“We are positive it can be fixed. It has came a long way from the beginning stages, and many improvements have been made.”  
“Good. Because if we have to scrap another one, there will be consequences for your department.”  
The light flickered off, giving you a moment to turn back and look at them. A doctor, and a tall, well built male. His clothes were dark, so he could hardly be made out, but his tone was clear. He had power. Purpose. And obviously something to do with you. Even in the darkness, though, it seemed he were staring directly at you.  
“I want it ready for the next test by the end of the week. Am I clear?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Good.”  
Without further words, they walked away, their shoes echoing against metal in the halls. You sat on your bed, blood rolling at the idea of another test. You were built for violence. It was an instinct, almost, though an instinct you had to learn to control, just as any. Hunger. Sex.  
So you waited for the next experiments. Injections. Pastes. Pills. All of it, improving your body even further. They kept falling short of the light problem, though. It improved some, but not enough for you to be in full light. When the test day came, the scientists seemed hurried and disorganized, muttering how you weren't prepared. There was no time left, though, and they sent you to a waiting zone for the evening.  
After some time, your adrenaline running, you felt the presence of something. You stood, pupils dilating to see _him_, the man from before.  
“Good evening. You stand here before your final test,” he began. “The test to determine if you will be terminated or not.”  
Your muscles tensed at the threat  
“I am the best _experiment_ this retched place has ever had.”  
“That may be, but that does not mean you are the best in the real world. At war. At destruction.”  
“And who are you to make such an assumption?”  
The man stepped closer, though he wore all dark as before. It was hard to see dark in the darkness.  
“The man who is better than you.”  
You were about to retort, anger rising in you, but in a flash his presence was behind you, a blow to your shoulder blades knocking you down. That was nothing to you, though his speed were impressive. You slid, jumping around, fist aiming for his jaw. You missed, surprised by another hit to your own jaw. With a thud, you slid across the floor, leaping up a second time, scanning the room for him. He was nowhere, though, before he was in front of you, kicking your knees. You fell, but were able to grab his shirt and toss him over you. It did nothing, his foot into your ribs before you had time to get up. His blows were far harder than any enemy you had faced before, and they were doing some damage, blood welling under your clothes.  
“This is pathetic,” he sighed, stepping back. “I expected so much more.”  
More hits. You were becoming drained. The perfection you had been built for, now imperfect. Broken. You tried to fight. Hit. Defend. But there was nothing. Finally, you were on the ground, sore and bleeding profusely.  
You heard the man's footsteps, leather boots on metals, and each sound hung loudly in your tuned ears. Once to you, he placed his boot on your head.  
“I could kill you,” he teased, pressing the leather into your cheek. “But that'd be such a waste.”  
He knelt down, lifting you by your neck, shoving you to the wall. The cold metal was almost welcoming.  
“To be a part of me, I thought you would be **better**.”  
“A part of you?” you managed, though it came rasped.  
“Of course. The only way to create the ultimate weapon would be to make it from me. Nothing could add up to the power I contain, but you could come close.” His eyes began to glow a faint red. Who was he? How was he so impossibly strong?  
“You are my clone. Though, due to the nature of the other elements that aided your conception, you were imperfect.”  
“A clone?” You had never seen what you personally looked like to know if that were true. But his powers and yours were similar. And then it made sense.  
“But you're nothing like me.”  
You had no chance to reply, thrown down to the floor again, the man kicking you. He was going to kill you. Why wouldn't he? He was obviously power hungry, and any chance to display power, he would take.  
His fingers took hold of your hair, forcing you up, and he drug you through the room. You tried to claw his wrist, yet your own nails could not break his skin. He forced you over some form of equipment in the training room, hand pressed between your shoulder blades. The tearing of your clothes was next, and this threw you into a savage frenzy.  
You bucked at him, kicking, trying to claw, teeth bared. But the instincts still did little, one hand to your back, the other at your head.  
“Keep fighting. It entertains me,” he casually said, as if your savage behavior were a normal part of his day. Quickly, you tired, already sore from the fight.  
“Good,” was all he replied, again tearing the remains of your clothing. Though there was no light in the room, you were nearly bare.  
“What are you doing?”  
“Putting you in your place,” he simply said.  
“What?”  
He said nothing more, and to your surprise and horror, you felt a thrust of his hips into you. You wanted to fight more, but he was pressing at your back harder, nearly crushing your ribs between him and the equipment. His other hand slid up to your arm, pinning you.  
“Get off of me!” you hissed, but he had no interest in it, slowly working his hips to yours. The metal equipment's surface shredded under your grip on it, the dry friction painful.  
“Do you see how _weak_ you are?” he growled between movements.  
“I see nothing but a monster,” you replied through grit teeth.  
“A monster you are made from!”  
He pulled your hair, bringing your back to his chest. Your arm reached back to grab him, but he stopped this with his free hand choking you, crushing your neck. It worked, and you then went to clawing his hand on your neck. He let go, just enough to let you breathe, still rhythm in his hips. He was breathing heavy against your face. There was absolutely no fight left in you, and you let it happen. You were infertile anyway, and knew he was doing this for his own demented pleasure, taking advantage of his own clone.  
A while longer, and he finally finished, releasing himself with a groan. As quickly as he finished, he let go of you, and you fell over the equipment, broken.  
“I'll see you again once your imperfections have been fixed,” he said as he caught his breath. There was nothing more between the two of you as he left the training room, and it was some time before the scientist came back for you, not questioning your state at all. You were returned to your cell, where you awaited your next test.


End file.
